


Run Away When It Hurts

by romanticalgirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 14:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl





	Run Away When It Hurts

There are three impulses that pull at him as he runs. They're whittled down to emotions, but they make sense to him as the wind flies past his face. Revenge. Duty. Love. He slows, the burn in the pads of his feet easing as he finds crisp grass to walk through, a tree close enough to collapse against.

It's still dark. His tongue dangles past his blue-black lips as he changes, then darts pink and dry before disappearing into his mouth. The bark catches at his long, tangled hair the way it never does as fur and holds him there, forcing a quick shot of panic that subsides as he jerks himself free.

Human again, the emotions are deeper, richer. Not layered in scents that make sense against his cold nose and none in his brain.

Peter.

Peter is out there somewhere. He's hiding, feeling perhaps less safe now that his poster is plastered on every available surface in the Wizarding world. He hopes the little rat feels panic. Hopes his tiny feet scrabble against the wood of the floor and get him nowhere.

Harry.

Harry is hidden, gone somewhere beyond where he can go right now. He needs him. Wants to touch him, to feel him in his arms. He wants him to smell clean and soft like Lily, like a baby. Wants to see green eyes wide without reproach staring up at him with adoration.

He shakes his head and gets to his feet, pacing the small patch of grass. Harry's no longer a child, no longer what he remembers. Harry is beyond him. Harry is…

The howl of an animal echoes through the night and he shivers, closing his eyes as he tilts his head up to the sky. The moon is nearly full, lush and bright and heavy in the sky. It looks ripe and ready to fall into his hands, to tumble down onto him.

He stumbles back against the tree and sucks in a breath as he sinks to the ground. He closes his eyes against the sky and exhales, pain no longer nipping at his heels but spreading through him like a disease, exhausting him with regret.

"Remus."

He whispers the word, tastes it on his tongue. He has not allowed himself to think beyond his guilt, his stupidity, his jealousy. Has not allowed himself to remember anything other than what he has done. But here, outside the walls, away from the Dementors…

He can't remember anymore, too suppressed and repressed. Too much pain layered over the top of his hot, hot, silky skin. Too many regrets tangled in his shaggy, brown, warm hair. Too many mistakes etched onto his pale back like the scars he tasted, running his tongue over Remus's skin until he begged, pleaded in hot, drowning gasps.

He swallows, tasting the thick spill of tears he cannot shed. Tears are for the innocent and, as innocent as he is, he remains guilty of this. The howl comes again and his body quivers like a spent arrow, shaking with memories that come in a flood of images and scents and, for a moment, he remains suspended in confusion. Human or animal?

Hot. Wet. Musky. Remus naked, above him, sweat gleaming in the lumos spell. Arms and bodies entangled. His hands rubbing Remus's legs as he nuzzled his thigh, his own silky hair tangled around his cock. Whispers and dark hallways, thrusts and groans kept silent with the hot press of flesh. Comfort in silence. A book, always a book, glanced over with heated eyes that promised more and more and more and kept secrets and pain locked away.

"No," he gasps and shakes his head, breathing heavily. His body aches, the weight of memory suffocating him. He struggles to his feet, shaking his head all the while, his hair wild and whipping around his pale, gaunt face.

Harry. Peter. Honor. Revenge. Duty. Death.

Remus.

The change is effortless and he runs as soon as it happens, his nose to the ground and to the wind. The moon is high and the air is ripe with scents of summer fading. He runs, no longer lost in the miasma of emotion, no longer torn between three. They still tug at him, but he heeds only one call.

His blue-black lips curve into a lopsided smile of slobber and skin as he runs, his own howl rising in the air. He knows others answer, but he hears only one voice now, hears only his master.

And his feet pound the ground in the steady rhythm of his lover's name.


End file.
